Scribedoll reveals her delightful humor in this memory.
In my final year at University, where I was reading for a degree in French Literature, thanks to a new syllabus tried out by the French Department, I was allowed to specialise by choosing four options. I was only too happy to drop 19th-century Romantic moaning (as I saw it) and 20th-century anxiety and depression (as I saw it), and throw myself into (again as I saw it) the certainty and serenity of the Middle Ages, 14th, 15th, and 16th centuries. This covered, among others, a course entitled “Literature of the Reformation”.
Eager to get ahead, I took a walk to the Theology Department, and asked if I might attend the relevant lectures, to gain better knowledge of the historical and religious background of the French literature I was about to study. Dr F., a specialist in the subject, was thrilled with my enthusiasm. “Yes, of course, you’re very welcome…
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